


A Crack in the Fascade

by ladyofdragons



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdragons/pseuds/ladyofdragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on Knock Out's reaction to Breakdown's death. (so old stuff) I can't promise that it's unique in its approach but at least there's no wibbly crying/wailing. Probably excessively melodramatic because I was purging OMGFEELINGS when I wrote it. I ship them but you could read it either way I think. Also no beta, forgive any mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crack in the Fascade

Tick. Tick. Pop.  
  
Tiny veins and fractures crept over the plastiglass surface of the monitor, as if reaching for the subject of the grainy satellite image it displayed. The acidic green glow of the medbay display backlit the mech standing there, his back to the door, the beryl light washing over the red plating, turning it muddy and dark.  
  
Tick. Snap. Crack.  
  
The frame of the monitor groaned softly in protest under the taut pressure of the ashen steel hand pressed against it; the long, sharp fingers heedlessly digging past the plastiglass surface to the mesh beneath, fracturing the image into the parody of life that it was. There was a rattle, the shudder of metal plates around a frame trying to contain something terrible and ugly, something that promised to bloom into full fledged agony if let slip.

"When?" Fewer words were better. Knock Out didn't trust himself.

From near the door Soundwave gestured towards the monitor, at the time stamp on the image.  
  
Not more than an earth hour then. They'd at least had enough consideration to not hesitate in notifying him. It was no comfort. Knock Out turned his helm, slightly, granting Soundwave at least the courtesy of this small eye contact; one red optic, pale now compared to its normally passionate crimson, finding the other mech in his peripheral.  
  
"Thank you." The dismissal, though gracious, was clear. The dark purple mech near the door turned silently to leave, the medbay door hissing closed in his wake.  
  
Knock Out's frame vented, haggard with the shudder that accompanied it. Pop. Pop. Click. Then a soft tinkle as bits of glass broke away from beneath his hand. Hands skilled at saving lives, helpless now to save the one that mattered most. He looked up, not wanting to, but feeling the necessity of it. The image lingered there like a ghost. The satellite over the area hadn't captured the whole scene. Only snapped images at intervals, but it was enough. _More_ than enough. More than the medic wanted, but perhaps needed, to see.  
  
Even with the evidence before him, it seemed unreal. Dissociative reaction. Classic grief response. Denial always came first. How often had he seen it in others? Hidden beneath all the bravado?  
  
Bravado. A dry, grating noise and he realized he was the one making it, in disgust. How many vorns had he relied on his partner's own bravado to protect him? He'd considered it an asset, one he had leveraged to his own benefit many times, only to have it proven to be the big mech’s greatest downfall.  
  
"What the _slag_?" he ground out, his vocalizer static laden, red helm slumping forward to thud dully against the screen. "Breakdown-- you know _better_ than that." The delicate servos pressed against the monitor then pulled away, curling into the solid shape of frustration and grief, slamming against the already broken surface, a ripple of new cracks spasming over the surface and opening more wounds. He felt them all, as if they spread over his own frame. The cracks in his armor, his facade, threatening to shatter him with it.  
  
And with the grief came the fear. And the doubt. He'd known, predicted this eventuality--it was war after all--but thought he'd just deal with it when the time came, like he did everything else. He was a survivalist, its what he did. But now it was here, upon him, bearing down like a great crushing weight. He'd relied on Breakdown for so many things, trusted him with so many more. Just not the greatest thing. And for what? To spare himself more grief? Knock Out rarely did anything halfway. Except this. Likely the most rewarding experience he could have in life and he'd backed away from it. Stupid. _Stupid!_ Breakdown had never outright asked. Just laid the foundation and left the door open for him, for the day he decided to go through it. Always tomorrow. We can bond anytime right?  
  
And now his answer. One he should have always known. The one risk most worth taking... And he hadn't. A choking noise, jagged and sharp with pain. Bits of plastiglass burst from the monitors surface as his fist impacted it again, spraying the whole area with shards of light, shards of hope dying with the flickering image of Breakdown's torn form.  
  
Now, more than ever, he was _alone_.


End file.
